Ah, the nursery play.
We've been getting ready for Charlie's first Christmas play for ages now. He's had homework and everything, in which the nursery attempted to get all the toddlers under its authority to learn 7 songs. Considering I only knew three of them and that I know my son particularly well (at the moment), I decided that three would be enough and it was up to them to get him to learn the rest.
So. Every night we sang 'Twinkle Twinkle' because it was thankfully on the list. We sang 'I'd like to teach the world to sing' because there was only one verse and we sang 'Jingle Bells'. Or rather, I sang. The spud sat looking at me like I was some sort of alien life-form, occasionally chipping in to 'Twinkle Twinkle' just to humour me.
Two weeks before-hand we had to supply a white outfit and so, freshly washed and pressed, off it went, trousers, top and a new white t-shirt to the nursery with clean name-tags in the back.
Last week we were given our tickets for Thursday afternoon and had our names crossed off the list of dutiful parents and this Thursday we booked out of work for the requisite hour, togged out in respectable clothes and carrying cameras. Oh yes.
Oh yes. We were all about the Christmas play.
We sat down and watched as first the older children filed in, all dressed in white with silver stars on their front. Then, Charlie's class filed in, all in white with golden crowns featuring little bells... but where was Charlie?
Where's Wally? (OK, the other kids are not aliens, I blanked faces just in case)
Ah.... there he is....
Yes, that's our son, refusing to dress up or sing or participate in anything so clearly beneath him as the nursery play.
As we left, I turned to the frog and admitted that when I was his age I was probably exactly the same. The frog replied that so was he. I can hear my Mother cackling from here.
Our poor son is doomed....